


Chance Encounters

by TheIcyQueen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Banter, Developing Friendships, Dragon Age II - Act 1, First Meetings, Gen, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24614506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIcyQueen/pseuds/TheIcyQueen
Summary: "By the time Hawke noticed the pickpocket and yelled out, the kid was halfway across the street…with a heavy bolt pinning him to the wall. It had been lucky for him, really, because if he’d been moving just a bit slower, well that bolt probably would’ve put an end to his days of criminality and mischief in a more permanent way. As it was, he was shaken up but no worse for wear when Varric strode up to him, demanded his ill-gotten gains, and suavely tossed the purse back to Hawke. And from that moment on, Houses Hawke and Tethras were thick as thieves.…or at least so went the story he told the Seeker."A re-imagining of the events that led to Hawke and Varric meeting for the first time.
Relationships: Female Hawke & Varric Tethras
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Chance Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> An entry in my continuing vein of "Things it turns out Varric didn't quite tell the truth about when Cassandra asked." 
> 
> Look, I am firmly of the headcanon that there's absolutely no way that Hawke managed to waltz around Kirkwall for that whole first year without bumping into Varric (or vice-versa). Nuh-uh, no way, no how ;P So here's a little vignette about how I imagine (my) Hawke and Varric first made each others' acquaintances.

When they’d met, it had been midday. The sun had been beating down on the part of Hightown the Merchants’ Guild had claimed for their own, casting harsh shadows underneath the statues of long-dead Paragons. The Hawke siblings were swiftly beating their retreat, one throwing bitter, hurt glances over their shoulder towards Bartrand and his cronies, the other lost in her own fuming, hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, mouth pursed into an unpleasant shape, eyes a million miles away; it was precisely that distraction that allowed the pickpocket to do what he did, to spring up from his spot and jostle Hawke, using her frustration as a smokescreen as he nimbly grabbed her coin purse. By the time she noticed and yelled out, the kid was halfway across the street…with a heavy bolt pinning him to the wall. It had been lucky for him, really, because if he’d been moving just a _bit_ slower, well that bolt probably would’ve put an end to his days of criminality and mischief in a more permanent way. As it was, he was shaken up but no worse for wear when Varric strode up to him, demanded his ill-gotten gains, and suavely tossed the purse back to Hawke. And from that moment on, Houses Hawke and Tethras were thick as thieves.

…or at least so went the story he told the Seeker.

As was the case with so much of the tale he spun for her, it wasn’t _exactly_ how events had transpired. Not quite. Maybe a detail or two had been changed around. To be entirely fair, it _had_ all started in the quarter where the Merchants’ Guild conducted their business. There hadn’t been a whole lot of sunlight, though.

***

Bartrand had _insisted_ he come along on this little endeavor, much as he would’ve preferred to be _anywhere else_ , and yes that did include the Deep Roads. Merchants’ Guild meetings were a necessary evil, true, but never how he would’ve chosen to spend his nights—better to let Bartrand deal with the bureaucracy and leave him to the shit _he_ did best, the shit that involved knowing _people_ and _places_ and _things_ instead of stamping yea or nay on trading contracts.

He’d been doing a fairly decent job of making all the requisite faces and saying all the expected things when his attention was pulled to the window, and considering the session was in something of a recess so another member could step outside to talk with a messenger, he figured he could’ve picked a worse time for his mind to drift.

The windows were made to be particularly thick and darkened from the outside (all the better to keep Guild business within the Guild), so it was probably sheer dumb luck that he managed to hear anything in the first place. As it was, there’d been a sharp bark, though whether it was the bark of a voice or an actual _dog_ he couldn’t be sure—Maker knew boats were coming by the day to dump more Fereldans on their doorstep, and Fereldans sure loved their ugly hounds—and even when he turned to peer through the glass, the answer wasn’t immediately obvious.

In the alley the window overlooked, it seemed there was _another_ meeting going on, though decidedly less friendly and considerably more exciting.

Someone lay flat on the stone walkway, dark blood sliding into the cracks to appear like mildewed grout; whether they were dead or merely injured, he couldn’t begin to guess, but what he _could_ tell was that the poor sod was Coterie. The uniform was only half the story. The three angry brutes standing just behind them told the rest. They were drawing weapons, the steel glinting in the moonlight, and while two of them wore the masked helmets typical of the gang, one had foolishly pulled theirs up to show the movement of their mouth. He let his eyes slide to the other side of the alley, the other side of the possibly-dead-possibly-dazed thug, part of him fully expecting to find a handful of the Guard waving the others off, and lo and behold he found…

A girl and her dog.

Oh, _now_ his professional curiosity was piqued.

Compared to the uniformed goons advancing on her, she was really just a slip of a thing, not precisely _tiny_ , but petite enough that he was able to predict the daggers before she drew them. Rogues had a tendency to run small; it lent itself well to speedy maneuvering, and sweet merciful Andraste on the pyre, she certainly had that going for her.

Varric watched her dispatch the would-be leader of the group (the one who’d been enough of a moron to remove their faceguard) before nudging Bartrand to get his attention, nodding towards the window. “Any ideas?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as to not be heard over the general murmur of the rest of the panel.

In a characteristically impatient huff, Bartrand glanced out the window, shrugged, and turned back to the contracts spread out on the table in front of him. “Probably Athenril’s new bitch. Heard she’s been making things difficult lately.”

Athenril, huh? That much made sense… _almost_ , at least. It wasn’t exactly a _rule,_ fair enough, because free agents like Athenril didn’t usually subscribe to the idea of _rules,_ per se, but in his experience, her crew wasn’t of the killing variety. Maybe not even the bludgeoning variety. They were more the ‘sneak around and run if anyone catches on’ sort, as least as far as he’d seen, but at the end of the day they _were_ smugglers, and that _would_ mean the Coterie wasn’t particularly fond of them.

“Fereldan?” Varric asked, as though the fur-lined fringe of her armor and the giant, hulking war hound at her side didn’t tell him everything he needed to know.

Bartrand made an exasperated noise and threw his hands into the air. “I said ‘ _bitch_ ,’ didn’t I?”

***

Of course, that wasn’t how they’d met, either. At least not in the most _technical_ of senses. That had simply been the first time he’d been made aware of the new up-and-comer in town. Knowing things like that was his business, and Varric took that business _very_ seriously, so it wasn’t too long before the quiet trickles of information began to add up and form an interesting picture.

Amell. As in the once prestigious house of Kirkwall nobility. As in the ancient Hightown Garden estate that had been pawned off to repay debts. As in Gamlen. There were three of them in all, the mother, a sibling, and Athenril’s new golden child, displaced by the Blight and crammed into a Lowtown hovel with good ol’ Gamlen himself (who must’ve just absolutely been in his _glory_ , Varric was sure, surrounded by family who’d no doubt expected to be welcomed into the city with the open arms always offered to nobility).

And all of that was interesting, sure, and it explained what she’d been doing in that alley, sure, but he’d always been of the opinion that you could have each and every detail of a person’s life written out before you and you’d _still_ be missing more than half of the story until you actually _met_ them, listened to them, saw the way they carried themselves. So he heard what he heard and took it to heart, but there was nothing—not a single, solitary thing—his sources gave him that could’ve prepared him for what happened that night.

Of the few taverns in Hightown, most were Carta-run; everyone and their grandmother knew that much. What that _usually_ meant was prices ran ridiculously high and you had to give anything you ordered a good, long look before deciding whether or not drinking it was your wisest move. What it _always_ meant was that Varric avoided them if at all possible, much preferring the Hanged Man, where the sleaze was of a different nature but comfortable in its familiarity.

Again he had Bartrand to thank, and wasn’t it funny how whenever he was roped into something unpleasant, it was his dear, sweet brother at the reins? Real funny. Where he’d gotten off to, Varric wasn’t positive, but he’d made some gruff excuse about needing to talk to someone or another before hustling away and leaving him at the table where he sat swirling the ale in his tankard until—

“Varric, right?”

He couldn’t stop the surprised ‘ _oof_ ,’ of breath that escaped him as he was pinned to his seat, the weight of one whole Fereldan preventing him from moving. The shock wore off quickly enough that he was able to respond without missing much of a beat, “Wouldn’t there be egg on _your_ face if I wasn’t?” A cursory glance around the rest of the tavern told him what he already knew: There were plenty of other patrons in much the same position as they were, meaning it was unlikely this little impromptu rendez-vous was drawing any eyes.

She laughed a bright, carefree little laugh that made him wonder whether plunking herself down in strangers’ laps was a regular affair—a question that was answered almost immediately, when she reached over to take his tankard from him cool as could be, helping herself to a considerable swig. “You’re probably going to want to leave,” she said in that same noncommittal way, delivering what was ostensibly a threat in much the same way most people commented on the weather.

“Now why would I want to go and do something like that? As you can see,” he gestured to the tankard in her hand, “I haven’t even gotten to finish my drink yet.”

“That’s why I’m here! To help speed you along on your way.” She turned more fully to him then, flashing the sort of smile that suggested they were old friends before pointedly raising the tankard to her mouth and taking another long pull. A sliver of her tongue poked out once she’d finished, wiping her upper lip clean, and in those same casual tones she added, “Deal’s going sour in the back. I’d say you’ve probably got…oh, ten…fifteen minutes before things go to shit.”

Well now.

Maybe coming out here tonight wasn’t such a bust after all.

He took the tankard back, using the moment as an excuse to get a better look at her. Gone was the fur-lined armor with the leather sheaths crisscrossing her shoulders, replaced instead by clothes nondescript enough that she might’ve been any other woman milling about the town, shoulders bare and on display, the whole outfit cinched tightly around the waist. It was the oldest trick in the book, really. ‘Weapons? On _me?_ ’ that getup was meant to say, ‘Oh you must be mistaken, I _couldn’t_ be armed! Where would I even _hide_ such a thing?’ And true, he couldn’t feel the telltale bulge of steel from where she was perched on his lap, but those boots of hers were pretty tall, and the ribbing of that bodice seemed suspiciously stiff.

Varric took a drink of his own, going along with the act for the time being. “Now that’s _very_ interesting, if true,” he began with a slow nod. “Very interesting indeed, but tell me…since when, exactly, is Athenril in the business of warning her competition before things get messy?”

She was good for a newcomer, he’d have to give her that, but a professional she was not—he watched her expression change clear as day, the corners of her mouth turning down and eyes widening, proving without a shadow of a doubt that she hadn’t expected _that_. She hadn’t expected to be _known_. “She’s not,” she replied all the same, though her voice had taken on an edge that seemed to (at least to him) border on petulant. “But maybe _I_ am.”

With a low sound of consideration, he raised a shoulder in a shrug. “That’s mighty considerate of you. Stupid, obviously, but considerate. She might not be too happy if she finds out you’re going around playing messenger on your own behalf, though…”

Clearly he’d ruined the fun of the game for her, because the cheerful grin had gone the way of her armor, replaced by something bland and uninteresting. And, he thought, likely hiding steel. “For your _information_ ,” she drawled, taking the drink from him once more, “I won’t _always_ work for her. I will, however, be in Kirkwall for the foreseeable future, so…” She gave him a shrug of her own before taking a drink, “I just think it’d be useful to…make friends where I can.” The smile resurfaced for a moment and _only_ a moment, but that moment was all it took, as it turned out.

He considered her for another moment, narrowing his eyes and sucking his teeth as he thought. It wasn’t in his nature to trust the altruism of strangers, particularly not strangers who made their trade in taking coin out of his own coffers, and yet.

And yet, and yet, and yet…there was something in that grin he couldn’t help but believe.

“You’re new here,” he said with the tone of a Chantry Mother explaining a particularly complicated allegory, “So maybe you haven’t caught on to this yet, but uh…this isn’t Ferelden. This is _Kirkwall_. And here? Free agents don’t really look out for each other. It’s bad for business.” He dropped her a wink and a smirk of his own and was rewarded for the effort by her finishing what was left of his ale.

“Yeah, well…” She set the tankard down onto the table beside him and leaned in closer than she already had been, close enough that he could see the way the blue of her eyes got darker and darker the farther from her pupil it was. “Maybe someone should set a precedent.” And with that, she gave his cheek a pat, stood up from his lap, and began to walk past him, adding under her breath, “Ten minutes. Then things get _rough_.”

Whether or not her threat ever came to fruition, he had no idea. 

Call him a fool, but he and Bartrand were _long_ gone by then.

***

“Well, well. To what do we humble denizens of Lowtown owe _this_ honor?”

Athenril turned from the market stall, her lip preemptively curled into an exasperated scowl. “Tethras,” she said, acting as though the name tasted poorly in her mouth, “I see no one’s done this town the favor of cutting that tongue out of your mouth yet. You really have to let me know what your secret is.”

Oh, what luck! He seemed to have caught her on a good day.

He snickered and waved off one of the barkers from the next stall to get them to focus their efforts on someone else. “This isn’t your usual haunt. You, uh, in the market for something _special?_ A gift for a friend, maybe? Something—”

She shot him one of her usual glares before turning away from the array of poisons she’d been examining (much to Elegant’s chagrin, he couldn’t help but notice). “If you have something you want to say, dwarf, I’d appreciate it if you’d just say it so I can move on with my day. I know _you_ don’t have better to do than sit around in that dingy shithole running your mouth—”

“Madam, please. The Hanged Man isn’t just some ‘dingy shithole!’ It’s not _nearly_ well-lit enough to be ‘dingy.’ I would’ve gone with ‘abysmal,’ or maybe ‘depressing.’”

His humor was lost on her.

It always was.

“All right. If you’re just going to—”

“Actually, now that I have you here, I’ve been meaning to ask you about this new protégé of yours that I’ve been hearing so much about.” He watched her face change at that, her frustration becoming something surprisingly more akin to self-satisfaction. “Word around town is you managed to find the _one_ Ferelden able to find their way out of a wet paper bag, and I gotta tell you, I am _intrigued_.”

“I’m sure you are. But I’m not an idiot—don’t you go getting it into your head that you’re going to just swoop in and add her to your little collection.”

He feigned insult, bringing a hand to his chest. “I would never dream of _swooping_.”

“She’s mine, Tethras.”

“Oh drop it, I’m not trying to hire her. I just have a…well, let’s call it a professional curiosity. It’s not often someone shows up out of the blue and shakes shit up this bad, you know. You can’t blame me for that.”

The way she was eying him made it clear she didn’t believe a single word coming out of his mouth. “Professional curiosity.”

“Mhm.”

“Right. Okay. Well like I said, I’m not an idiot, she’s mine, and if you were _smart_ , you’d leave well enough alone.”

With an airy sigh, he leaned against an empty stall, absently adjusting a strap of Bianca’s holster as he did so. “ _I_ hear,” he began slowly, “She’s only yours ‘til the year’s out.” He raised his eyes to her again, and wasn’t surprised when he saw the sourness creeping back into her expression. “And you know me…I like being informed of the who’s-who in Kirkwall. Especially when it comes to independent contractors.”

“She’s not going to _be_ an ‘independent contractor.’ Not when she sees what I’m ready to offer.”

He shrugged as if to say ‘Who’s to say,’ returning to examining the strap across his shoulder. “Fereldans are nothing, if not unpredictable.”

She didn’t seem to take too kindly to _those_ implications. “What’s your game?”

“I already told you: I’m just curious.”

“Nugshit.”

“Look. Anyone who can take _your_ ramshackle little operation and turn it on its head is _obviously_ someone worth knowing.” It wouldn’t do anything for his case, he knew, but he couldn’t help shooting her a smirk as he said it. “Maybe I’m just looking to make a new friend in these troubled times we find ourselves living in.”

Athenril scoffed at that and, seeming to be done with the conversation, turned back to the poisons laid out on Elegant’s stand. “This is _Kirkwall_. Since when are any of us _friends_ with one another?”

“Maybe I’m looking to set a precedent.”

***

The rest happened, to be sure, the pickpocket, the bolt, the returned coin purse. So in that way he hadn’t _lied_ to the Seeker—not _really_ —he had simply left out a detail or two.

And if she never thought it odd that an entire year could pass in a place like Kirkwall, a place where everyone’s business was on full display to anyone who had enough coin, a city run by its underground just as much as its Chantry, without the two of them crossing paths, well…that was a mistake on _her_ part, really.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! If you've read any of my other stuff, you've probably noticed that I'm not usually in the habit of posting this frequently! (Sure wish I was.)
> 
> All this month, I'm taking part of a writing challenge with a few of my writing buds where we try to write a drabble a day! I'm posting ALL of my daily drabbles on tumblr (where you can find me as queenofbaws) in the "Queenie writes challenge stuff" tag, but I'm going to be cherrypicking one or two to put up here on AO3 too every few days. I'm trying super, super hard to make all my daily drabbles fluffy and fun (and probably shippy, lol) because I know shit's hard right now and a lot of you guys are probably looking for some kind of distraction, so don't you worry about finding any doom, gloom, or super intense emotional stuff if you go picking through that tag - I think we've all got enough of that shit right now. 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this (and my unnecessarily long author's notes ;P), and I really, truly hope all of you are healthy, safe, and well <3


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